


Dreams Come True

by ohmywhy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Fluff, Grammy Awards, M/M, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 16:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmywhy/pseuds/ohmywhy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren wins a Grammy. But he's won in so many other ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams Come True

The applause dies. The crowd goes silent, waiting, quietly rooting for their favorites in their heads.

On the stage, the presenter speaks articulately into the microphone. “And the Grammy goes to…” She looks down, struggles to rip open the envelope.

Darren’s breath grows heavy. His hands shake, and his stomach roils nervously. Around him, the air is thick with anticipation, all eyes on the bright stage before them, all ears listening closely. Darren is well aware a camera is on him, capturing his every expression, but he cannot hide his nervous antics, the way his eye uncontrollably twitches. (Not that anyone sees that, but he feels his whole body tingle with anxiety.) He thinks – _what if I_ did _win?_ But he doubts. Once, twice, three times. Just as he doubted himself in the upcoming days. There’s no way in hell he snagged this award. There are so many more talented artists in the industry. Why him?

Beneath the table, Chris reaches for Darren’s hand and holds it softly, interlocking their fingers. Chris soothingly runs his thumb across the back of Darren’s hand, and Darren sneaks a glance at him. He knows Chris believes. But it’s impossible. He was lucky enough just to be nominated. When Chris smiles back at him (equally nervous, Darren can tell, and yet somehow, incredibly confident), Darren exhales.

Time ticks by slowly, and yet, too quickly. The envelope is finally open.

The presenter looks up, smiles, and reads. “…Darren Criss.”

And then suddenly, time comes to a full stop. Darren’s ears ring loudly. His heart beats wildly. His hands shake further. His jaw drops a little, and the honey gold hazel of his eyes are clouded over with pure shock. _Was that really his name he heard? Or is about to walk on stage and make a fool of himself?_ Next to him, Chris rises in excitement, his beautiful grin gracing his face, and that smile is enough to ground Darren once again. Darren’s world comes back to life. The audience erupts in applause.

Darren stands carefully and shakily buttons his jacket. He thinks of the first time Chris won a Golden Globe, how many times he’s watched that video, and he realizes how close he’s mimicking that shock. He runs a careful hand through his curls.

“Congratulations, baby,” Chris says in his ear, elated. Chris leans in to kiss Darren’s cheek, but Darren instinctively turns his head to kiss him full on the lips. To hell with being on air. He’s just won an award, and he’s ecstatic, and nothing and no one can take this wonderful moment away from him. As he walks away, Chris patting him on the back, Darren thinks about Chris’s red cheeks, how he must inevitably be blushing at the prospect of their personal kiss airing on national television, an image sure to follow them across the internet. Darren wants to care for the sake of Chris, but. He can’t.

On his walk to the stage, he thinks about the energetic, gifted, and ambitious young Darren who saw this moment in his head many times, even went so far as to rehearse in front of his mirror, and despite the belief that it would take him _forever_ to get him, continuously believed. _Here’s to you_ , Darren thinks. _We did it._

In a daze, Darren climbs the stairs up to the stage (and doesn’t fucking fall, thank God) and is handed his award. He treasures the weight of it in his hands, heavier than he thought and real and incredible, and he’s overcome with disbelief. This is _his_. He knows two days from now, this overwhelming feeling in his chest will blur in his memory, so he savors it while he has it.

The presenter hugs him, a wide smile across her lips, and Darren returns the hug a little too tightly, too excitedly. He apologizes quietly, and she shakes her head and says, “Congratulations.” Finally, she steps aside, and Darren is left to take over the microphone. The audience awaits. Hell, America awaits. Actually, the world awaits.

“Wow,” Darren blurts out. His chest tightens with incredulity. “Shit,” he breathes.

The audience laughs, and although he feels oddly afraid, the uproarious laughter melts his fears away. Darren wants to be graceful and charming and inspirational, but. Shit. He forgets rehearsed speeches and instead, the words tumble out of his mouth.

“I have so many people to thank for this,” he starts. With the bright lights above his eyes, he can only see the front rows before the stage, and he can’t find every person who matters to him, but he speaks to them anyway. “Thank you, of course, to the Academy. This is for everyone who ever indulged me in this dream and everyone who helped me on this difficult road here. You deserve this more than me. This is also for every artist out there, especially the other nominees in this category, who produce the wonderful music I listen to every day and constantly create culture. This is yours as much as it is mine.”

Then, Darren unconsciously holds the Grammy to his heart. He hopes the music doesn’t start playing soon. “But more importantly, thank you to my absolutely amazing husband, Chris, without whom none of this is possible. You are my muse and my best friend, and without you, I would not know love. Also, to our daughter, who I know is watching this when she should sleeping. That’s a warning, Melanie.” He holds his Grammy up just as the music begins to play. “Thank you!” he repeats one last time, and then, he’s quickly lead away, the announcer overhead teasing the audience with presenters and awards to come.

Darren smiles uncontrollably as soon as he’s backstage, unable to control his grin. He turns to answer questions and snap photos, but he sees his wonderful husband walking briskly towards him, so he lifts a finger and asks everyone to patiently wait. He instantly crushes his lips against Chris’s, and Chris wraps both arms around Darren’s neck. Darren wraps his only free arm around Chris’s waist, and he feels his chest soar with an incredibly giddy feeling.

“Congratulations,” Chris repeats, Darren running his lips softly down his jawline and neck. When Darren finally pulls away, Chris holds his face in his hands and smiles. “Without me, you would never know love?” Darren shrugs, laughing. “You’re really sappy,” Chris continues.

“And you love it,” Darren teases. He answers the rhetorical question. “I would know nothing without you. I’d be empty, soulless. Who the hell would I write for?”

“Okay, Darren Everett, tone it down. I already love you.”

“Don’t I know it,” Darren says quietly, and just like he does every morning, he suddenly feels very lucky to gaze into those beautiful blue eyes and see his own love reflected. “I count my lucky stars every day.”

“Mhm,” Chris snorts. “Flatterer.”

“Seriously though,” Darren says. “Thank you for supporting me and loving me every day.”

“Thank you for being you,” Chris whispers intimately. “And loving me too. I’m so proud of you.”

Nothing makes Darren’s heart beat faster than those words. (Except Chris’s ‘I love you’.)

“Now, go take your million pictures,” Chris insists. Darren nods.

That night, Darren celebrates his award in a way younger Darren never expected he would. There’s no drinking and partying and loud yelling and bragging. He’s instead at home, cuddled comfortably on the couch with his gorgeous husband and their very awake daughter (“Daddy, can I hold it? Daddy, are you going to put it on the mantel? Daddy, can you sing me my song again?”), watching the show’s highlights. And he would have it no other way.

He’s won his award, and he has his loving family. Two dreams come true.  


End file.
